


i am not a vessel for your good intentions

by MigrantMayhem



Series: heartless [4]
Category: baldur's gate 3
Genre: Angst, Arguments, Astarion and Mags cannot communicate AT ALL unless one of them is crying or begging, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Biting, Blood Drinking, Delusions, Distractions, F/M, Hallucinations and Delusions, Madness, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Tension, These characters are so fucked up, Trust Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and i think about the exact way he does his inflections everytime i write, astarion is probably ooc but i need some soft astarion in my life, because his v/a does a FANTASTIC job, i hope you guys can hear his voice in his lines, mags just wants a friend, one of them has darkvision, the other does not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-27 10:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MigrantMayhem/pseuds/MigrantMayhem
Summary: Mags wakes from a nightmare to catch Astarion hovering over her. She leads him away from camp so he can explain himself away from prying ears, and she can clear her head. She doesn't like what he tells her, but she's always been a sucker for a pretty face.
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion/Female Charname (Baldur's Gate)
Series: heartless [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2218569
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the crane wives' "tongues and teeth"
> 
> \---
> 
> Mags: Mad Magdahlia, my current dnd character. She's a human warlock, with a pact with a banelich. He took her heart to create his phylactery, but in order to keep that heart alive he had to bind her life force to it. Now she's basically an immortal-- whenever she dies, a curse put upon her by the lich resurrects her as she was the minute the pact was sealed (at age 20, scar down her chest from where her heart was removed bleeding and everything.)  
> We're playing her through Descent into Avernus right now, but since game-mechanics-wise, in order to bring her back to life I have to start her character a level 1 again, I decided she could *reasonably* go through both that campaign and Baldur's gate 3. Right? right. we'll go with it.  
> I posted the conversation this is referencing, go check out "the horror and the wild" in this series (and the album too)

Mags’ lungs were tight, breathing ragged as she woke with a start from her nightmare. She threw herself from her side to her back before she jumped _again_ , fist rearing, nearly burying itself in Astarion’s face as he hastily scuttled away from her. She sat bolt upright. Her fingers trembled.

“What the _fuck_ Astarion!” She spoke in a harsh whisper.

“ _Hells_ , calm down! It-- It’s not what it looks like,” He hissed, eyes flashing around the camp, holding his breath as though her little outburst might have awoken their companions.

She could sense his unease, and took pity on him. Curse her unusually large heart, taking pity on the man who had been _looming over her_ in her sleep. She stood, looking over the campsite herself. Everyone slept. None was the wiser to their antics. She reached a hand down to where Astarion was flat on his ass, still staring up at her with the wariness of a startled animal. He cautiously took it and she pulled him to his feet.

“If you wish to talk, walk with me. Need to clear my head.”

Astarion just blinked, but with one more look at their sleeping companions, followed besides her.

“So,” She muttered once they were in the darkness of the forest. It was a new moon tonight, meaning the forest was dark as pitch. She cursed as her feet got caught in the foliage. She could see the faint outline of Astarion’s arm extended to her, and she took it. She almost forgot that he could see in this darkness, “You want to start with your best excuse? Or your worst one?”

The two walked, arm in arm, as Astarion guided her through deer trails away from camp. He sighed, and she could hear his tongue clicking as he thought. “What should I say, hm? You caught me red-handed. Perhaps I should simply be honest?”

“Sounds very unlike you.”

“I know, I think you’re beginning to rub off on me.”

She looked up, fruitlessly, in an attempt to scan his face. He must have seen hers, however, because he chuckled. A beat of silence, then he spoke again. “Since I know one of your secrets, I’ll repay you with one of mine. I trust you’ll be just as patient as I was with yours? And… just as discreet?”

Mags’ feet halted for a second before being dragged forward by Astarion’s easy gait. “Do you mean accuse you of lying to me?”

“Well, not exactly, although I suppose if you find it that shocking I must be doing a very good job of hiding my… um… _nature_.”

She squeezed his arm a little bit, urging him to continue. “So, then? Out with it.”

He took a deep breath in, then exhaled. “Well, there’s no _good_ way to put this, darling,” He paused, before a cold hand placed itself over her fingers, “I’m a vampire.”

Mags hesitated for a moment, and Astarion stilled this time, allowing her to stand still while she collected her thoughts.

“Oh.” Mags spoke simply, “Oh, well now that you say it, I can see it.”

“What?”

“Well, you’re not exactly subtle about the ‘dead’ thing. I thought you had just been making fun of _me._ ”

“What? Hells, I have _manners_.”

“Oh, sure you do, Magistrate ‘How-do-I-kill-my-way-out-of-this-inconvenience’ Astarion," She rolled her eyes, "And those pretty little teeth of yours. I had suspected it, but didn’t think it possible. You were out in the sun.”

“Yes, well, that little… _immunity_ , has come as a side effect of our little tadpoles, I’m afraid. And you had mentioned the teeth thing before.”

“I did?”

“You were very drunk.”

“ _Oh_.”

They lapsed into a soft silence, as they both acknowledged where the conversation was going.

“So you were going to _drink_ me, I imagine?”

“ _Please_ , nothing so callous. Even disregarding my fondness for your unhinged hide, I have appearances to keep up. Can’t go draining everyone I cross paths with.”

“But you chose me for a reason. I could see you draining, oh, I dunno, Gale? Maybe Shadowheart?”

Astarion snorted, “Oh, my dear, is it so unbelievable that yours is the most appealing neck amongst our companions?”

Mags just glared at the outline of Astarion’s head. He sighed, “I see flattery isn’t working on you tonight.”

“No, not tonight.”

“... The fact that… if I went _too_ far, mind you… you wouldn’t be _dead_ … _might_ have been a factor.”

“Of course, should have known--”

“It’s not like I even _need_ that much-- just enough to get me back on my feet! I’ll be faster, stronger, and then I can go hunt a boar-- or _something!_ It was just as insurance!”

“But what was stopping you, then? From draining me completely? From killing me?”

“I’ll have you know I’ve been doing this for _two hundred years_ , I am no _stranger_ to restraint.”

“Because your reputation is on the line? Because a trail of bodies would be in ‘poor taste’? You _knew_ you could risk it with me, that’s why you picked me out of our crowd!”

“It’s not like you would feel anything! It’s painless-- a little _prick_ , then… pleasant numbness. Surely not the worst way you could go-- _have_ gone.”

“And what would you have done when I came back? When I was clutchin’ my bleedin’ chest and cryin’ out-- because I _died_ in my _sleep_ and didn’t even face my killer in the eye?”

He was silent.

“And what would you do when the rest of camp found my lifeless body, drained of blood? You don’t know how long it takes me to come back. It’s not like I’m back on my feet fifteen minutes after death, you _ass_ . It takes me _days_.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” He hissed, “Is that what you want to hear? It doesn’t matter, because none of it happened, anyway.”

“No, it _does_ matter!” Mags roared, “Because that tells me what you think of me. For all your talk of ‘fondness,’ I’m nothin’ more than an unending _bloodbag_ to you, am I?”

“ _Hells_ , Mags! Aren’t you reading a little too much into this?”

She slipped her arms from his, stepping into the darkness. “You _bastard!_ ” She shouted, “It’s my _life_ , you cunt, and it still hurts to die. To think I fuckin’ trusted you.” She turned and started sprinting.

“ _Mags_ ,” Astarion grasped her wrist, and then her waist, pulling her back into him. She cursed him, trying vainly to free herself, “Calm yourself-- just for a moment. There’s a tree there.”

“What?”

“You were charging headlong into a tree. All the anger in the world isn’t worth a concussion.”

She felt her face flush darkly in embarrassment, and she temporarily stilled in his arms.

“There you are, easy now,” He spoke softly, and she could feel his breath on the shell of her ear. “You are right, of course. I shouldn’t have let my hunger blind me. But you’re wrong on one part,” His admission was soft, private-- only for her. She felt her chest tighten. “I am rather fond of you. I would even venture to say I _respect_ you, you mad little thing. In all my years, I’ve never met anyone quite as _interesting_ as you. As… _difficult_ … as it is for me to admit it, I should have considered your feelings a little more thoroughly. Perhaps I am out of practice.”

“With manners?”

“With empathy.”

She tapped his arms and he released her. She turned so she was facing him, and drew a small knife from her hip.

She heard his breath catch before she pressed the knife to her wrist, slicing a line over it like the skin of a peach. She winced at the pain, but soon blood began to lazily pool in the cut.

“There. Drink.”

“What?”

“I refuse to be a victim. But you’re more useful to me if you have your strength. So there. Drink.”

Astarion didn’t hesitate the second time, cold hands wrapping around her skin and bringing it to his lips. She swallowed as his tongue traced up the line, hot and wet, sending a shiver down her spine. He wrapped his lips around the cut-- soft, smooth, and she ignored how her breathing caught in her throat when he sucked. His teeth pricked at her skin, not puncturing, but dragging against her flesh with his eagerness. Her eyes fluttered shut, thankful for the darkness. She felt her face go scarlet as his tongue traced another line along her wound, smoothing over the stinging pain. She suppressed a groan.

He drank deeply, sucking almost painfully against her skin, as if he was trying to draw every last drop in her body. It made her toes curl humiliatingly, and she tried vainly to steady her breathing. His tongue swiped a hard circle around the cut and she couldn’t think of anything else other than how _fucking talented_ his mouth was, if he could make her this weak just by sucking on her wrist. Her knees quickly grew weak, and she blamed it on the fact that her blood was being drained, and definitely not the heat pooling in her gut.

Just before she collapsed completely, he forced himself away from the cut-- with great effort. He licked his lips, before leaning back down and licking the excess away, almost _sweetly_. Mags bit her lip to keep from crooning. Astarion pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it over the wound, pressing down to keep it from bleeding.

His breathing was labored, she could hear it in the darkness. His grip was tight but delicate on her wrist, as if he was afraid she would break, or disappear. She felt a little woozy, but she mostly just wanted to kiss him-- feel those soft, cool lips against her skin once more.

“ _Hells_ , Mags,” He rasped, “You taste _amazing_.”

A shiver went down her spine at the praise.

“R-Right,” She dared to speak, nodding to herself.

“ _Oh_ ,” He breathed, grip tightening on her wrist for only a second, “You… you _naughty_ little thing,” He chuckled in that conniving way of his, it only made her thighs squeeze together, “You quite _enjoyed_ that, didn’t you?”

 _Fuck_ , she remembered, _he can see in the dark_.


	2. Chapter 2

She had told Astarion no.

That’s all Mags could think about, as she tore her way through the undergrowth, through gnoll carcasses, through her own violent delights but she certainly wasn’t  _ sated _ . She thought about it as she stared at the scabbed-over line on her wrist--  _ where he traced that hot tongue of his, the rest of him was so cold yet his mouth was like fire _ \-- and when she wasn’t thinking about how she told him no she was thinking about everything--  _ everything  _ else.

She thought about the way lightning arched out of Gale’s hands and how that spell felt over her skin, ages ago and yet here, in the present-- the hot-white  _ burning _ as it struck, knocked the wind out of her, sent her pulse erratic and made her whole brain fuzzy before it fried. Her eyes boiled first, she thinks they erupted in her eye sockets, but who really knows when struck with arcane lightning, all she knew is she was blind as her burned body crumpled to the ground, twitching, lungs gasping, hyperventilating--

She thought about the  _ boom _ of the oil barrel besides her when it was struck with that gods-forsaken flaming arrow, how it sounded just like the sound of those flashfire bottles she had been transporting for Jaez-- so recent in her history yet again, ages away. Their bright blue flame that leapt out and coated everything in that  _ sticky, liquid pain _ . She had lost her arm in that fight, in that instant, shot apart by the force of the ricochet of a hundred vials getting shaken, combining, and exploding at once. She didn’t know how long it took her to bleed out, she didn’t need to know. She could still feel the way the air touched the bone--

She thought about the darkness of the caves she wandered blindly, clutching Shadowheart’s belt like a fucking  _ child  _ because Mags couldn’t see in the fucking darkness and she could, and how it was just as dark as her own fucking coffin, almost fifty fucking years ago-- the dark, oppressiveness, the heat of her own breath on her face, the stinging of her hands and knees as they beat against the wood, she couldn’t breathe, she  _ couldn’t breathe _ \--

And when she wasn’t thinking about all those  _ awful fucking things _ , when she wasn’t thinking about all these things that made her head spin like the little top her baby brother played with on the front steps the day she fell into that damned lich’s ruins, she could  _ feel  _ her brain-bug wriggling behind her eye. She could feel it poking, prodding,  _ pushing _ ,  _ pinching _ . Twitching-- was it her eye that was twitching or the worm crawling underneath it?

“Mags--?” A voice broke her out of her stupor, and she flinched, hands rearing up to defend herself.

It was Wyll. It was just Wyll, mismatching eyes wild with equal parts concern and fear. He clutched her wrist in his hand-- the one with the barely-there cut, blended in with all her cuts and scrapes, no one would know where it came from, what it was used for-- and in her hand, was a carving knife.

She stared at the knife, not realizing she was holding it. She blinked a few too many times, but she remembered, hazily, staring down the tip of the knife. She could plunge it into her eye-- she could carve it away until the tadpole was exposed, until she could reach in with two fingers and pluck it out. It wouldn’t be the worst agony she’d endured, and it wouldn’t be the last. And, after a few years-- or maybe just a year, at the rate she was going-- she’d fall down dead, wake up the next morning. And all of it-- a missing eye, the scars from the goblin’s arrows, the burns along her back from the acid, and that  _ itty bitty little cut _ \-- would be gone, like it never happened.

Like it was just a bad, bad,  _ bad  _ dream.

“Mags,” Wyll’s voice was soft, like he was speaking to a child. He carefully, as though she was a sleeping bear that might wake up and bite through his skull, pulled her fingers from the grip of the blade and took it from her palm, “Are you--” He stopped himself, “You’re wound like a damned watch. Have been all day. You need to  _ relax _ .”

“‘M fine,” she offered, a barely-there, ghost of a defense that she knew was convincing no one, much less herself.

“No,” Wyll chided, “No, you’re not.” He sighed, jaw tensing before releasing, eyes dancing from the dirt back up to her face. He was weighing his words carefully. He knew he needed to. “You’ve got this darkness behind your eyes. If something’s on your mind, you… you  _ can  _ talk about it. To me, at the very least.”

Mags stared at him for a long moment, before the nightmares of her tormented thoughts faded into the background of her mind. She could feel how sharply her face fled from hollowed and haunted. A sharp grin replaced it, almost a snarl, teeth and gums touching the cold air. She tilted her head.

“What?” She asked, sickeningly sweet, “Does it scare you?”

Wyll shifted uneasily, releasing her wrist. He swallowed.

“Um, yes, actually--” Gale answered for him, and Mags turned her attention sharply to the wizard, “--We’re all going through quite a lot, right now. We’d much rather not watch you spear your own eye on the tip of the knife.”

“It would save us trouble,” Lae’zel hissed.

Mags let her eyes scan the faces of her party members. Lae’zel wrinkled her nose in disgust. Even Shadowheart, who was impossibly difficult to discern, showed her obvious discomfort, eyes fixed on her, breathing just a bit quickened. Astarion, from the far edge of the camp, caught her eye for only a moment, before he disappeared into the wilderness. 

Mags let her eyes drop to the dirt.

She had told Astarion no. He had asked her, with that sick smirk in the starlight, her blood on his lips, in that honeyed voice if he could even the score-- she gave him a  _ gift _ , he could give her one  _ better _ . He offered, and her gut twisted and begged her to say  _ yes _ , but no. She said no. Because she wasn’t about to give her control to someone who had proven thrice that she was expendable; someone who had put not a threat, but a promise at her throat-- a dagger, a dagger, and now his teeth.

But  _ now _ , now she wanted nothing more than to be out of her own head. She wouldn’t even mind it if she died. Why did she say  _ no? _

She stood, and she could feel the tension over the firepit.

“I’m going to take a walk.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was still dark as shit outside, the moon no longer new, but just a sliver of a crescent. Mags was at the point that she didn’t care, content to storm through the undergrowth, cutting up her legs on thorns and tripping over squirrels and other nocturnal beasts. She just needed to  _ go _ , needed to  _ leave _ . She was scaring her companions, they wouldn’t want her around for much longer. Never did, once they knew that “mad” was more than just an epithet. 

A silhouette was barely illuminated by the starlight, looking like a ghost standing in the break of the canopy. He quickly turned to look, so fast Mags nearly jumped, reaching for a weapon.

It was Astarion. She could barely see the slick of blood on his chin.

The creature beneath him whined, and she looked off as she approached him. With a wave of her hand, she urged him to continue. She could feel his eyes on her before he finally turned, finishing his prey.

She sat down against a tree nearby, head pressing into the bark, staring up at a hole in the canopy as she listened to the obscene slurping and gulping of the ravenous vampire-- she wondered how much he needed to drink-- he sounded like a man starved.

He took deep, panting breaths as he finally removed his teeth from the animal-- what creature, she couldn’t see-- before addressing her.

“You know,” He started, voice just a touch rough, “I’m not used to having an audience for this. I’m not sure I much appreciate it, either.”

“You didn’t,” She spoke simply, “Can’t see in this darkness.”

There was a long pause. “Why did you follow me out here, darling? Did you miss my company?”

“I changed my mind,” She muttered, “I want to take you up on your offer.”

“Wha--” He caught himself, seeming to remember, “--Oh, my dear, I am  _ flattered _ , but I think you missed your opportunity.”

“What?” She looked in his direction sharply.

“What? Were you really expecting me to be that easy? I extended my kindness, and you returned it with…  _ ferocity _ .”

“I was  _ mad _ , Astarion--”

“‘Was?’  _ Darling _ , you  _ are  _ mad. Positively  _ batty _ . I offered you my  _ company _ , and you instead took it as an opportunity to attack my character. I’m not sure why you’d think I’d stick my neck in that trap  _ twice _ .”

“Did it truly hurt you  _ this  _ badly?”

“Would it honestly surprise you to hear me say  _ yes _ ? Would it surprise you to know that I wasn’t lying when I said I was fond of you? Respected you?  _ Trusted  _ you?”

Mags’ throat tightened, and her head smacked against the tree with a solid  _ thud _ . She grit her teeth. Really, what  _ was  _ she expecting?

She felt the tadpole wriggle beneath her eye.

“ _ Fuck’s sake _ \--” She growled, palm slapping against her eye-- she wouldn’t be surprised if it bruised. She buried the heel of her palm into her socket, as if she applied enough pressure the creature just might squish.

She heard Astarion click his tongue. “And especially with your little  _ performance  _ tonight-- you could very well be making those eyes at me for the same reason you were making them at the  _ dagger _ . I refuse to be made the weapon of your own self-loathing.”

Her jaw tensed so tightly her ears began to ring. Her spare hand balled into a fist-- she couldn’t bring herself to remove the palm from her eye. 

“What, do you want me to  _ beg _ ?” She spat from her spot on the ground.

“ _ Beg?”  _ He growled, “Dear, if you did, it might make it worth my time, because then I’d at least get a laugh out of it. But no,  _ pleading  _ me will get you nowhere. I know, it must be strange-- facing the consequences of your actions.”

Mags closed her eyes, snarling low in her throat. She felt miserable, forcing her scalp into the rough bark, her palm harder against her skin until she saw spots. Her fist came down and smashed against her bruised knees thrice, each harder than the last, until her anger vanished, and all she was left with was the hollow feeling between her lungs.

“‘M sorry,” She breathed, hardly a whisper.

“What was that?” He asked, edge of anger slipping in favor of suspicion.

She cleared her throat, “I’m sorry,” She spoke sharply, standing up and brushing her clothes off, “Dunno what came over me.”

“Tonight?” He asked pointedly.

She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Tonight. Last night. Fuckin’...  _ every  _ night. I’m… I’m just fuckin’  _ mad _ .”

“I feel as though we long established that, my dear.” His voice was still bitter.

“I’m not ready for you to control me.”

“I didn’t ask for your  _ autonomy _ \--”

“I know. But you’d take it, if I gave it to you.” She breathed, “And I  _ would  _ give it to you.”

Astarion’s silhouette tilted it’s head. “I’m terribly sorry you’re afraid of your own delusions,” His words were so simple, but they burned like acid.

“That’s the  _ point _ , Astarion,” She clarified, trying to ignore the croakiness of her voice, “ _ I’m _ sorry, I’m afraid of my own delusions.”

“And what makes tonight any different? Still afraid I’ll abuse the power you seem to so carelessly throw about? Because I just might--” He closed the distance between them, and she stumbled back into the tree behind her. His hand came to clutch her face, fingers wrapped around the side of her neck, ball of his palm pressing ever-so-slightly against the column of her throat, the only thing keeping it from an immediate threat was the way his thumb pressed under her chin, propping her head up. She could see the outline of him against the night sky, and if she strained she swore she could see his pupils blown wide. He whispered harshly against her skin, and she could feel his breath against her face. He  _ growled  _ as he spoke, “After all, since you seem to care so little about your life, why should I? Why shouldn’t I just  _ use  _ you for my own purposes? Why shouldn’t I just teach you how  _ monstrous  _ I can really be?”

She gasped, and a sob slipped unbidden from her lips. Her hands reached up, curling blindly in the fabric of his tunic, and she felt hot tears slip down her cheek. She trembled in his grasp, eyes falling shut so the illusion of his features wouldn’t scorn her for her weakness.

“ _ Please _ ,” She breathed, barely a whisper, “I just can’t keep doing this,  _ please _ . I just need to forget for a while.”

She could feel the soft puff of a sigh against her face, and his touch shifted from hostile to gentle, thumb reaching up and brushing a tear away. “ _ Hells _ , you’re pathetic,” He whispered, almost affectionately, “ _ Fine _ , color me intrigued. What is it that you need to forget, Mags?”

She shifted on her toes,  _ swearing  _ she felt the worm wriggle against her eye again, but with Astarion so close she couldn’t bring her arm up to beat the sensation away. She opened her eyes and saw the way the starlight played on his silvery hair. He tilted his head at her.

“ _ Pain _ , Astarion,” She whispered so softly she wasn’t sure she even spoke it aloud, “Do you know how badly it hurts to  _ die _ ?”

She could hear the way his breathing caught in his throat, the soft, impatient exhale as he relented in his anger. His hand slid from her jaw and smoothed through her hair, and she felt herself shiver at the touch. His movements were stiff, apprehensive. This gentleness was as obviously as foreign to him as it was to her, and she caught his wrist, afraid he would pull away, leave her lost in the dark.

Emotions overwhelmed her, the likes of which she hadn’t felt in lifetimes.

He swallowed, and the two stood like that for a moment longer, paralyzed. Finally he spoke up, “No, I suppose I wouldn’t. Mine was… relatively painless. How… how many-- do, do you know?”

“‘ _ Course _ ,” She muttered, head dipping down, one hand wiping away stray tears, “Six.”

His fingers tightened in her hair for a moment, before something broke in the tension between them and he pulled her into his chest, arms wrapping around her back and she  _ sobbed _ . Memories bubbled to the surface of her mind and all she could think about was the  _ fear _ , the  _ dread _ , the  _ loneliness  _ that overwhelmed her after she awoke in a ditch, in a bog, in her own grave. She had never been this vulnerable with anyone, filled with the overwhelming fear that they would abandon her if she picked at her own seams. Because, she hiccupped, at the end of everything-- despite her rage, despite her hate, despite her cynicism-- she was still that scared girl on that slab of stone. She  _ hated  _ that about herself.

“ _ Shhhhshhh _ ,” Astarion whispered in her ear, “ _ Hells take me _ , what have you done to me?”

All she could offer him were half-choked  _ “I’m sorry”s _ muttered into his chest, feeling as though her entire body was trying to shake apart. This kind of touch felt forbidden, but she couldn’t pull away. Astarion made no indication that he wanted her to, one hand curled at the curve of her spine while the other combed mindlessly through her hair.

“You know,” He muttered, “Here I had foolishly thought this was about me. I thought, perhaps my advancements were too eager, given your outburst. I should have known,” He laughed, and it sounded strangely, warmly delighted. He lifted her head up so he could look at her, “You’re just positively  _ mad _ , my dear. And I think you’re dragging me with you.”

His cold thumb swiped under her eyes, before pressing his lips to the knot forming between her brows.

For the first time in her life, she felt loved.


End file.
